Part 6

"Of course," added Mrs. Martin, "these musical attempts presuppose some knowledge of sight-reading on the part of you young people; and as nothing is accomplished without application and effort, you must be willing to take a little trouble in the practice and perfection of whatever you undertake to perform. Each of you must carry his part home and study it separately, until you are perfectly familiar with it, then you must rehearse together until the whole thing goes smoothly. Do any of you understand," said Mrs. Martin, giving a comprehensive glance along the semicircle of sun-browned smiling faces in front of her, "what you must do to make _ensemble_ singing sound sweetly to the listener? In the first place, never sing too loud. There is a great temptation for each member of a chorus or quartet to use all the power of his voice as soon as he feels other voices pushing against him; but whether in solo or other work, one of the cardinal rules is to avoid singing as loudly as the vocal chords will permit. One must think continually of the sound he is producing, must listen carefully to himself, by which method one can modify and improve the quality of tone to a remarkable degree. Some people undoubtedly make a much more successful effort than others in managing their voices before they are cultivated. The best general advice to be given for the help of a novice is, sing freely and naturally, with relaxed muscles. You should try to open the throat by a movement which at once forces the tonsils apart and depresses the roots of the tongue, somewhat as in the commencement of a yawn. Let the column of air which carries the tone come straight through the middle of the open throat, and focus or strike in the roof of the mouth just behind and above the upper teeth. Try to enunciate distinctly without disturbing the continuity of tone emission."

"Do you think any of us can do solos, Aunt Martha?" asked little Patty, timidly.

"Oh yes, indeed," replied Mrs. Martin, drawing Patty close to her. "We must have some, of course; they are so good for making boys and girls conquer shyness and nervousness and consciousness. At first you should select simple songs of limited range, with attractive flowing melodies. You will find plenty of just this kind among the works of Gounod, Abt, Ries, Cowen, Sullivan, Curschman, Kücken, Fesca, Tosti, and Bohm. Brahms's 'Lullaby' is a charming and easy bit of singing; so is Ries's 'Cradle Song.' Those by Adalbert Goldschmidt and Gerrit Smith are pretty also. Indeed, slumber songs lend themselves admirably to early efforts in solo work. Other song writers to whom you may look for furnishing the best material are Jensen, Eckert, Lachner, Taubert, Bemberg, Gumbert, Goring-Thomas, Bizet, Lassen, Delibes, Widor, Arditi, Mattei, Godard, Saint-Saëns, Massenet, and so on, up to the classic heights of Rubinstein, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Schubert, Schumann, Grieg, and Brahms. Of extreme modern writers who make pleasing music you can rely on Chaminade, Nevin, Neidlinger, Bartlett, Johns, and Pizzi. Of course among these names you will not find many opera-composers, for I have only cared to mention the makers of songs. I will tell you something else, a little foreign to our immediate subject of _ensemble_ or solo singing, which, however, will, I am sure, afford you much enjoyment and merriment. There are compositions called in German 'Kinder Symphonien,' or 'Children's Symphonies.' Dear old Father Haydn made one of the best of these, and they have been followed by others, by Romberg, Chwatal, Grenzebach, Meyer, and Schulz. They are played by about ten or twelve persons. There will be a piano score for either two or four hands, one for violin, and for a number of toy instruments. One of the instruments is somewhat like a pair of bellows in construction. When it is pressed together the most illusive sound of 'cuckoo, cuckoo,' comes from it, so natural as almost to deceive the bird himself if he were listening.

"Another instrument is a china mug with a spout like a teapot. The mug must be half filled with water, and on blowing into the spout a melodious gurgling arises. This is supposed to be an exact imitation of the ravishing song of the sad poetic nightingale. Then there is a drum, a trumpet, a triangle, and many other things conducive to noise and music. Each performer has a separate sheet to read his notes from, and the effort to count properly, to wait for rests, and to make the right entrances, gives much serious employment. But when at last everything goes well together the effect is very merry and pleasing. One of Chwatal's symphonies is called 'The Sleigh-Ride.' The jingling of a set of small sleigh-bells is a feature in this. I should think," added Mrs. Martin, "that some of these symphonies would be a great addition to your musicals, and give lots of fun. The trumpeter of the occasion must take pains, however, not to fall into the error of the man who blew a tremendous blast upon his horn in the middle of a piece of music, producing a horrid discord. When the leader asked him, angrily, 'What in the world did you play that dreadful wrong note for?' the man meekly replied, 'Ach Himmel, there was a fly on the fourth line of the staff, and I _played him_!' Nor must you," went on Mrs. Martin, smiling at her reminiscences, "copy the negligent daring of a friend of mine who sang in a well-known German _Verein_. Things had been going badly, and finally the conductor in despair cried out, as he stamped his foot and gesticulated wildly, 'Tenors, tenors, you are a measure behind!' Whereupon my friend called back lustily to him, 'Ach! muss man denn _so genau_ sein?'--must one then be so very particular?" The children laughed heartily at their dear hostess's jokes, as they tried always to do when it was at all possible.

"And now," said tall Ethel, "won't you please tell us all about the evening of the musical, and what we shall wear, and how to write the invitations?"

"Wear?" said Mrs. Martin. "Why, of course you would wear your very best evening gowns, you girls, and of course, to my mind, those who were dressed in white would look the prettiest. And the boys would wear their Tuxedo suits, or whatever they looked smartest in. As to the invitations, do not send out so many as to crowd your parlor uncomfortably. The rule which I have found safe to believe is that one-third of all the people invited will decline. This gives a hostess the liberty of paying a compliment to many more of her friends than her house will actually hold. The form of the invitation may be thus:

"_Mrs. Dudley requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Allison's company on Thursday evening, November 12, at half past eight._

"_Music at nine o'clock._ "_160 Saint Bernard Street._

"Or your mother's ordinary visiting-card will do, if she writes in one corner, 'Music at nine o'clock.' Invitations should be sent at least a week or ten days beforehand. If it is possible for you to have a grand-piano, never use a square or an upright one. If you must use either of the latter kinds, turn it away from the wall, and drape the back of the upright with some pretty soft drapery, which can be held in place by books, vases, and a lamp on the top of the piano. All the portières or other curtains that can be taken down should be removed, and all the rugs and heavy furniture carried out of the room. Music sounds so much better in a place free from soft thick hangings.

"It is good to have programmes, for people enjoy listening to pieces much more if they know their names. Should expense deter you from having them printed, they may be nicely written off on a sheet of note-paper. For printed programmes, a card ten inches by three and a half, folded once in the middle of its length, makes an extremely good form.

"Would you like me to give you some idea of the programme, musically and spiritually considered, as well as from its purely material stand-point?" said Mrs. Martin, after a few moments' silence, "for I believe, with that exception, that I have told you all I can. Get out your note-book, Bertram, and put down what I tell you."

PROGRAMME.

1. Mixed Quartet { 'Farewell to the Forest' _Mendelssohn_ { 'O, Hush Thee, my Baby' _Sullivan_ 2. Piano Solo, 'Spring' _Grieg_ 3. Female Chorus, { Lullaby _Brahms_ { 'My Flaxen-haired Lassie' _Koschat_ 4. Tenor Solo, 'Máppari,' from 'Martha' _Flotow_ (Or song by Chadwick, 'Du bist wie eine Blume.') 5. Male Quartet, { 'Verlassen bin ich' ---- { 'The Owl and the Pussy-cat' _Ingraham_ 6. Violin Solo, 'Simple Aven' _Thorne_ 7. Piano, four hands, Ballet Music from Feramors _Rubinstein_

PROGRAMME NO. 2.

1. Piano, four hands, 'Hochzeitsmusik' _Jensen_ 2. Female Chorus, 'Rest Thee on this Mossy Pillow' _Smart_ 3. Violoncello Solo, 'Love Scene' _Victor Herbert_ 4. Soprano Song, 'Parting' _Rogers_ 5. Violin Solo, 'Romance' _Mrs. Beach_ 6. Male Quartet, 'It was not So to Be' _Nessler-Vognih_

"And then," said Mrs. Martin, "you could finish with the Kinder Symphony as a merry ending, or add one or two numbers to those I have suggested, and keep the Kinder Symphony for a separate evening's entertainment. At all events, I hope you will find that I have inspired and helped you a little, and that you will carry out the plans I have laid down."

"Yes, we will!" cried all the young people, in a breath; and Bertram, putting his note-book in his inside coat pocket, said, dreamily, "It's awfully late; suppose we go in and take the gift of sleep!"

OLD-TIME THANKSGIVING.

BY M. L. VAN VORST.

Come, will you help me harness the bay? Come, will you help me hitch up the gray? Grandfather's lent us the great big sleigh. Hip hurrah for Thanksgiving-time! Chestnuts and cider and fire's glow, Five good miles through the woods to go, Clear cold winds and a driving snow. Hip hurrah for the bells achime!

Fly by the hedge of the country-side, By the gleaming fields and the farm-lands wide. Hey for the boys and the girls as they ride! Hip hurrah for the gray and the bay! Snow-wreaths hang on the fir and pine, And the bells are ringing like silver fine; Bright cheeks are glowing and bright eyes shine. Hip hurrah for the jolly sleigh!

Come, will you go with us, one and all, To the games and romps in the country hall, Where the rafters ring with our shout and call? Hip hurrah for the fun and cheer! Months of the holly and mistletoe We would hold you fast, for we love you so. Thanksgiving and Christmas and sparkling snow Gladden the days of the dying year.

THE HANGING OF TEDDY.

Halloween was sure to see a variety of pranks played in Scottsville. It was a fortunate front fence which had its own gate the next morning. All of which shows that there were boys in Scottsville.

"Well, gates are good enough if you can't do any better," said Teddy, on the afternoon of a last day in October, "but I'm getting tired of them."

"What about signs, then?" asked Joe.

"Signs are all right--genuine signs up on buildings--not these pasteboard cards saying 'To Rent,' and sewing-machine boards nailed on fences, and such stuff."

"You don't think you could get a big store sign down, do you?" asked Fred.

"Yes, I do."

"Whose?"

"Oh, a lot of 'em. Mr. Parks's would be an easy one."

"But it's up over the door, and runs clear across the front of the building!" protested Joe. "And it's fastened up with irons!"

"Don't care if 'tis. We're good for it, if we only think so. I've been looking at it. The irons are loose, and there's room to stand on the ledge behind it. It would be just as easy as nothing to take it down."

"What would you do with it?" asked Joe.

"Well," answered Ted, slowly, "it says on it, 'M. Parks. Cheap Cash Grocery.' I think it would look sort of funny to take it up and put it on the school-house."

The other boys instantly fell in with this idea, though they still doubted their ability to get the sign down. Then Fred thought of the village's night watchman, who spent most of his time in the business part of town.

"But what about Billy Snyder?" he asked.

"Oh, my pa says Billy goes to sleep every night at nine o'clock," answered Teddy, confidently. "He says burglars might pull Billy's boots off and he'd never know it."

"Well, if he sleeps all night, he must walk in his sleep," said Joe, who lived farther down town than the others. "I've been awake 'way in the night sometimes, and heard him tramping round."

"But, don't you see, to-night he'll be up town looking out for fellows lugging off gates," returned Teddy, not to be convinced that there was any danger from the watchman. "Besides, Billy can't run for shucks."

It was accordingly arranged that the boys should meet that night across the street from Mr. Parks's store at half past ten; and promptly at that hour they were all on hand. It was a dark night, and the streets were deserted.

"It's--it's pretty dark, isn't it, Ted?" said Joe, in a loud whisper.

"Course," answered Teddy, contemptuously. "Want it dark, don't we?"

"Y--yes. Seen anything of Billy?"

"Oh, he's all right--way off somewhere. He won't be down here to-night."

They tiptoed cautiously across the street, and looked up at the sign.

"Has he been raising it?" said Joe, very earnestly.

"No, of course not," answered Teddy, impatiently.

"Well, it never looked so high to me before," insisted Joe.

"Oh, you're scared!" returned the brave Ted. "Better run home."

"I'm not scared. How are you going to get up?"

"Climb the eaves-spout on the corner. It's easy as nothing," and he started up.

He went up for five or six feet, but found it harder work than he expected. He stopped and rested a moment, then struggled on. This he did twice, feeling his hold weakening all the while. The last time he stopped he looked down. It seemed a long ways. His hold suddenly grew still weaker, and he slid back and rolled over on the ground.

"Are you hurt, Ted?" anxiously inquired the other boys.

"Of course not," answered Teddy, impatiently. "Came down to rest and put a little dust on my hands," and he went out into the street and spatted his palms on the ground.

"We ought to had Tom Ketcham along," said Joe, when Teddy came back. "He's a bully climber."

"Oh, pshaw!" said Ted. "If Tom Ketcham can climb any better'n I can I'd like to know it. Just watch me now;" and he started up again.

Thanks to the street dust or to a determination to show Joe that he was as good a climber as Tommy, he managed to get up this time and wriggle in on the cornice, which made a sort of ledge behind the sign. He loosened the iron on that end of the sign, and walked cautiously along, taking a piece of clothes-line out of his pocket, with which he intended to lower it. Just then footsteps were heard approaching.

"Billy's coming!" cried Fred, in a hoarse half-whisper, and he and Joe started down the street.

"Hold on there!" called Teddy to the younger boys, in a fierce tone. "Get in the doorway and keep still."

The others obeyed, and Ted himself lay down on the ledge behind the sign and flattened out as much as possible. It proved to be only a man on his way home, and he passed without seeing the boys.

Teddy's heart was thumping pretty hard as he thrust his chin over the edge of the sign and whispered, "You fellows down there?"

"Yes," answered the boys.

"Well, what you so scared at?" he asked, tauntingly, as a way of keeping up his own courage. "Look out, now, and I'll have this sign down there before you know it." He rose up and started to hurry along the cornice, but stumbled over something and went down with a great thump. Fortunately he fell on the ledge, and the sign kept him from rolling into the street.

"What's the matter, Ted?" asked the others, excitedly.

"Nothing. Don't know. Fell over something." He felt about in the darkness, and added: "Iron thing to put a big flag in. Forgot it was here."

He crawled on to the other end, and readily pulled up the other iron that held the sign in place. Then he crept back to the middle, looking out for the flag-staff bracket this time, and tied one end of his clothes-line around the sign. He took a half turn with the line around the flag-holder, which he stood astride, lifted up on the sign to release it from the supports on which it rested, and began to lower it slowly. "Get ready, there!" he whispered to the other boys. The sign was heavier than he had expected, and the rope hurt his hands. But he shut his teeth together and hung on, and slowly paid out the line. Just then there came the sound of a heavy step up the street. Teddy tried to let the rope go a little faster, but it suddenly shot through his hands. The sign struck the stone sidewalk broadside with a report like a gun, and the end of the rope, which was entangled with his feet, jerked him off the ledge, and he shot down after the sign. But the flag bracket which had tripped him up before saved him this time. Its upturned end caught under the back of his jacket, and stopped him with a jerk, his shoulder-blades against the front of the ledge, and his legs dangling in the air above the doorway. Between the crash of the falling sign and the heavy footsteps, which sounded precisely like the watchman's, the other boys had been too frightened to think, and had scampered down the street faster than they had ever run before.

Teddy's first thought was to call for help, but he was too frightened to call; and by the time he had found his voice he had concluded that it would be best to wait a few minutes, since he was not particularly uncomfortable, and see if he could not get himself out of the fix he was in without being caught. The approaching footsteps had ceased, and there was not a sound to be heard. "Billy has stopped and is trying to make out what all the racket is about," Teddy thought to himself. "If I keep still he may not see me in the dark, after all." His jacket was drawn pretty tightly across his chest, and there was a good deal of strain on the buttons, but he knew his mother had sewed them on and that there was not much danger of their giving way. But it was rather hard to breathe. He wriggled about a little, and tried to get his elbows up on the cornice in the hope of raising himself, but he couldn't do it. Nothing more was heard of Billy, and the earth seemed to have swallowed up Joe and Fred. It seemed to Teddy that he had hung there half an hour, though it probably wasn't more than three or four minutes, when he ventured to call, in a subdued voice, "Joe!"

"Is that you, Ted?" came from directly beneath him in Tom Ketcham's voice.

"Yes, Tom. I'm caught. Help me down, somehow."

"Is that you hanging up there?"

"Yes. I'm caught on the flag-holder."

"Yes; we heard it fall. Phil's with me."

"Was that you I heard coming? Thought the walk sounded like Billy."

"We--we had a gate, and I guess that made us walk pretty heavy."

Just then Joe and Fred crept back, emboldened by the sound of the voices. The four boys on the sidewalk now held a whispered consultation as to the best way of getting Teddy down, but they reached no decision. Tom thought Ted ought to take his knife, cut off his buttons, and drop out of his jacket, but Teddy objected to this. Joe thought a ladder was the only hope, but Fred was of the opinion that if they had a long pole he could be got down with that; but no one knew where either a pole or ladder could be found. Teddy himself thought that if two of the boys should climb up on the ledge that they could pull him up, and as Phil shared this view it was decided to try it.

"And hurry up," pleaded poor Ted, "'cause I'm getting pretty tired of this, and can't hardly breathe."

Tom and Phil accordingly started up the leader, and soon wriggled on to the ledge as Teddy had done. The sign being gone, there was great danger of their slipping off into the street, and they crept along very cautiously. When they found themselves over the suspended Ted, they rose up on their feet, stooped over, and each got a good hold on his collar with one hand. Then they lifted together with all their strength, but they might as well have lifted on a thrifty oak-tree for all they accomplished. Ted had settled down so far that his shoulders were half drawn under the cornice, and though he tried to wriggle about and help them as they lifted, his wriggling really consisted of nothing but thrashing his legs about in the air.

"We can't do it, Tom," said Phil.

Tom felt around on the front of the building, and replied:

"'Fraid we can't. If there was only something for us to hold on to we could lift a good deal more; but there isn't."

"Not a thing. And if we lift another pound we'll pull ourselves into the street and break our necks. What shall we do?"

"Don--don't leave me," implored Teddy, with just a suspicion of a whimper in his voice. "Wish I'd never heard of the sign. It's my last sign if I ever get down."

"We'll get you down some way, Ted," answered Tom. "Just you keep a stiff upper lip."

"I--I am," returned Teddy. "But I can't hang much longer. Feel like I was going to die, or something."

Just then distant footsteps were heard on the sidewalk.

"Ssh!" said Phil. "Somebody's coming. Get in the doorway, you fellows down there."

Joe and Fred obeyed, and the footsteps came nearer.

"That's Billy's walk, for sure," whispered Tom. "Can't fool me on that. Lie down, Phil," and the two boys flattened out on the ledge.

Poor Teddy could do nothing but hang, as if he were a sign put out in front of a store where small boys were kept for sale. Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, till they were almost in front of the building. Then there was a sudden stumble, a smothered ejaculation, and a man fell full length on the walk, while something which showed a little point of light went rolling along the walk. It was Billy, and he had fallen over the sign, and his dark-lantern had rolled away. The boys all had hard work to keep from laughing, except Teddy.

"Geewhillikans!" howled Billy, as he scrambled to his feet and made a dive for his lantern. "What's all this?"

The next second he flashed his bull's-eye on the walk, and began an investigation.

"You may shoot me if it ain't old Parks's sign!" he went on, throwing the stream of light along the board. "More Halloween monkey business, I s'pose. I'd like to catch the scalawags! Wonder how they got it down?" He stepped back to the edge of the walk and turned the light upward.

"Well, _well_! If there ain't a boy, then I'm a goat! Come down here, you young imp!"

Teddy only swung his legs.

"Come down, I say, or I'll--I'll--I'll--" and Billy paused, unable to think of anything terrible enough.

"I--I can't, Billy," Teddy managed to get out.

"Hung up, hey? Good enough for you. You ought to be hung up by the _heels a week_! I'll get you down, young man. Just you be calm till I fetch Whitney's ladder," and Billy started up the street on a trot, muttering to himself.

The new danger sharpened Master Teddy's wits, and made him think faster than he had ever done before.